An improbable love
by slowroad
Summary: Sherlock is a famous violinist who is going through a bit of a slump. He's lonely and miserable. It has been three years since John was invalided home from Afghanistan. He's slowly getting his life together, but he's lonelier than he's ever been. And then, the the two of them meet…
1. Chapter 1

** Wednesday,11th January,2012**

** John**

**John**: 221C, Baker Street, that is going to be my new address. I'm moving on Saturday.

**Harry**: Baker Street? That's central London. Must be pricey. You must be doing rather well

Johnny boy. Need help?

**John**: Thanks. But I think I can manage. Mike and Molly are coming over to help.

**Harry**: Okay, good. But Clara and I will come over anyway. It's been too long.

**John**: That it has. How are you guys doing?

**Harry**: We're fine. I've been sober for six months now and I think she's starting to trust me again. Thanks.

**John**: What for?

**Harry**: For talking her into giving me another chance.

**John**: Not a big deal.

**Harry**: So…are you seeing anyone?

**John**: No.

**Harry**: What about Molly?

**John**: Molly? What about her?

**Harry**: You could ask her out…you seem rather fond of her.

**John**: I'm very fond of her. But she's just a friend.

**Harry**: Okay. Remind me. How long has it been since you went out with someone?

**John**: Honestly, I don't know.

**Harry**: And you don't think there's anything wrong with that?

**John**: So I haven't been dating for a while. So what?

**Harry**: John, you haven't gone out with anyone for a year…ever since you broke up with Mary. I know she hurt you, but come on.

**John**: You know what, I was angry with her when we broke up, but she was right. I really didn't care about her. I said I did, but didn't mean it…

**Harry**: What are you saying?

**John**: I'm saying that I'm tired of this…I meet an attractive woman and I ask her out, we go out on an couple of dates and we get intimate and then after a couple of months it just fizzles out. It's meaningless and stupid. I don't just want to date, Harry. I want to be in a committed relationship… with someone I have real feelings for, someone I connect with. Someone interesting, for goodness sake.

**Harry**: And how are you going to find that?

**John**: I have no idea. But I do know that I cannot be in a meaningless relationship again.

**Harry**: I hate that you're alone Johnny. You deserve better.

**John**: Since when do _you_ worry about me :-)

**Harry**: It's always been the other way around, hasn't it? I know I haven't been much of an elder sister, but I'm trying to do better.

**John**: Thanks. Well, it's past midnight. So…see you Saturday?

**Harry**: Sure. Good night.

**John**: Good night.

John closed the chat box and logged out. He put his laptop away, got up and stretched. It was past twelve and he was rather tired. He looked around the dingy little apartment that he'd been in for over two years now. It really was a bit of a hole.

_How did I stand this place for so long? _He thought. But it wasn't like he'd had a choice. He'd come home wounded from Afghanistan. He'd had a severe shoulder injury, hand tremors and a limp. He hadn't been able to work at all for the first six months.

It had been a really hard time. His therapist had called it PTSD and she'd said he was just having trouble adjusting to civilian life. But it hadn't been that. He'd been someone important, someone necessary in the army. He'd come back to London and suddenly it seemed like he didn't matter anymore.

After a while, his health had improved and he'd started working at a clinic…mostly locum work. It was boring, repetitive work and it hadn't paid well at all. Finally, his shoulder had healed and he'd been able to get back to surgery.

It had been six months now, working as a trauma surgeon, and he was starting to feel like himself again. This was what all his education and training had been for, after all. The job was interesting, it kept him on his toes and it paid rather well. So at long last, it felt like his life was looking up.

...

**Wednesday, 11****th**** January, 2012**

** Sherlock**

**Avery Fisher Hall, New York.**

Another stage, another successful performance…the audience on its feet, clapping and cheering…this is what he lived for, the violin was his life. He lived for the music. So why wasn't he ecstatic? Why did he find it such an effort to smile and wave at the audience? He was so tired. All he wanted was to get back to the relative quiet of his hotel room and just go to sleep.

Finally, it was over. He was off the stage. He went to his dressing room and got changed. There was a knock on the door. It was his manager.

"Ready?" he said.

"Ready for what, Lestrade?" Sherlock didn't bother to hide his irritation.

"Dinner! I told you, you had a dinner party to go to. Don't tell me you forgot."

"I'm not going!"

"You have to. You're the guest of honour."

"Why do you get me into these things? Just make some excuse."

"Sherlock you always do this. It is not nice. You already have a terrible reputation. Why do you insist on making it worse?"

"I don't care what kind of a reputation I have."

"Well, I do, damn it! And you're going to listen to me. Come with me… smile, make some small talk, have a glass of wine…you'll only have to stay for half an hour, I promise."

Sherlock glared at his manager. He really was not in the mood for company and conversation...but then he was never in the mood for anything like that. He'd never been sociable, but over the last few years, he'd grown more and more withdrawn. The only thing that mattered to him was the music. Everything else was detail.

He opened his mouth to protest again, but he decided against it. Lestrade had a certain look in his eyes that told him that it would be futile to argue with the man tonight. So he sighed and gave in.

"Thirty minutes. No more. And you won't try to make me eat."

"Okay fine. Fine. Can we go now?"

_Boring,_ Sherlock thought, as he looked around him, smiling vaguely when someone came up to him, nodding politely, pretending to be interested in what they were saying. He had his eye on the clock the whole time though. He'd been having a difficult year. He'd been on tour for ten months now, going from hotel to hotel, stage to stage, until it all seemed to blur together.

This had been his life for the last ten years and he had enjoyed it. But now, it felt like something was missing. The music had become more mechanical, less soulful and he wanted to stop. Take a break…_How ironic, _he thought. Mycroft had been telling him this very thing for years. That he worked too much, pushed himself too hard. That he needed to have a life beyond music. He'd always ignored him, insisting that music was what he lived for.

Well, once this was over, he had a performance in San Francisco on Friday and then he would be free. He had nothing booked, no performances, no recordings for the next two months. He would be free to go back home to London and his quiet little apartment in Baker Street and dear Mrs Hudson…


	2. Chapter 2

**Sunday, 15th January, 2012**

**John**

John woke up with a start. It took him a minute to figure out where he was._ My new apartment, _he thought groggily_._ He'd had a long day and he'd fallen asleep on the couch without realising it. The telly was still on, the remains of his dinner still on the table. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. He was reaching for the remote when he heard it…the soft strains of the violin.

Someone was playing the violin next door…He turned off the telly and sat back to listen. There was some Schubert and Mendelssohn and a good deal of Bach. The violinist next door…John had concluded by now, that it was a man, though why, he couldn't possibly tell you…seemed rather fond of Bach.

_He's very, very good_, thought John as he listened. There was a certain incandescent quality to the music…the violinist wasn't just playing the written score, he was illuminating it, finding hidden meanings and allusions…John felt himself drawn into the music so completely that there was nothing else in that moment...

He realised with some surprise that he had tears in his eyes…it really was that beautiful. It also made him nostalgic, took him back to his childhood and the violin that he had loved so much. It had been a big part of his life then. But with med school and then the army…he'd let it go. He'd packed it up when he left to join the army and that was it.

He snapped out of his thoughts when he realised that his neighbour had moved on to something entirely different. It was a slow, haunting melody…that went back and forth, like the composer was searching for something and not quite finding it. It stopped abruptly and the violinist went back a few bars and played them again, having altered a couple of notes and then he stopped again.

John heard a frustrated sigh and realised that this was an original composition. It seemed that his neighbour had worked it out up to one point and then he couldn't go on, he didn't know how to go on. But he kept trying and he kept getting stuck. And judging from the noises next door (the walls really were thin…Mrs Hudson hadn't been kidding about that) he was getting really angry.

He started as something crashed against the wall in front of him, glass, by the sound of it…he had an inexplicable urge to go next door and talk to the guy and try to get him to calm down. Then he glanced at the clock and realised with a start that it was 5:30 in the morning.

He listened for a little while longer. Things had quietened down next door…so John took himself to bed, his head and heart full of the music that he'd been treated to and a good bit of curiosity about the man next door.

**Sherlock**

San Francisco was not much better than New York had been. He'd gone up on stage and given a performance…it was a very good performance, but he knew that it was far from his best. His best came when he was so involved in the music that he saw nothing in front of him. But now he saw and heard every distracting thing.

He played with his hands, not his heart. His heart it seemed was tired and bored. Getting up on that stage had become a chore. He got through that performance somehow, waiting all the while for it to be over. So he could get off that stage, get on a plane and go home.

He'd been travelling all over America and Canada for the last three months. He would have been the first to admit that they were both beautiful countries. But he missed London and home. He was, for the first time in his life, acutely homesick. He was also tired of being a celebrity.

He wanted to go home and disappear for a couple of months. He'd made Lestrade promise that this time there would be no dinners, no socialising and no delays. He wanted to go straight to the airport after he was done.

So 3:30 on Saturday afternoon and he was home. He greeted Mrs Hudson warmly, heard that a new tenant had moved in next door, accepted her offer of a late lunch and walked into his apartment. Sherlock loved his apartment. It was the only place that said 'home' to him.

He'd been here since he was eighteen, ten years ago now, and for all his fame and money he'd never wanted to live anywhere else. He was really a very simple man. He was uncomfortable with opulence, which was odd considering that he had grown up in a wealthy family and was quite rich himself.

He put away his bags, took a long shower, had the generous lunch that Mrs Hudson brought up for him and fell into bed. He hadn't been sleeping or eating properly for months now. So the combination of being at home, in his own bed, the long shower and the lovely lunch just did him in.

It was past three in the morning when he woke up. He felt rested and at ease. So he did his favourite thing in the world. He picked up his violin and played...all his favourite pieces, mostly Bach. It was exhilarating. So he decided to pick up a piece that he'd been working on for a while.

He played some of it and it seemed to be going well, but he got stuck. He went back and tried again and got stuck again. He rewrote some of it…it didn't help. He sighed in frustration and because he'd never learnt to give up when he was down, he tried again and again.

The music remained stubbornly unresponsive to his attempts to control it. He lost his temper and picked up the vase on the coffee table and flung it at the wall. Then he sat down and hung his head. He hadn't been able to compose for the last six months and it was driving him crazy.


	3. Chapter 3

It was mid morning when John woke up. He wandered into the kitchen and put the kettle on. He was surprised to realise that his first coherent thought had been about his mysterious neighbour. In fact, he was still thinking about him…he couldn't help it. That music last night had been magical.

He wanted to meet the man. That should be easy. They were neighbours. All he had to do was go over and knock. But it wasn't that easy. He had no desire to intrude. He didn't know a thing about the man next door, but he knew that it was a man, that he was a loner and that he was at a low point in his life just now.

_So, not going over…no._ He finished his tea, had some toast, took a shower and got dressed…and he was still thinking about the man and his violin. He was about to leave…he had a lunch date with an old friend from the army…when on impulse, he picked up a piece of paper and wrote a quick note. He shoved it under the door of 221B as he walked past and quickly left the building.

Sherlock was sitting on the couch trying to read and trying not to be bored when he heard a noise at the door and saw the note. He picked it up and opened it.

_I heard you play last night. It was enchanting to say the very least…I don't know when I have heard anything more beautiful. I was tempted to come over and tell you so, but I didn't want to intrude. It seems you are rather fond of Bach…I'm guessing that the logical nature of his music appeals to you. I am a bit more partial to Beethoven myself._

_Of all the wonderful music you played last night, it is the piece at the end that has stuck with me. I realise that it is unfinished and that you're having some trouble with it. I heard you go over it a few times and I get the feeling that you're trying too hard to control the melody. The music wants to fly and you're not letting it. Maybe you should let go and see what happens._

_ John Watson._

Sherlock read the note over a few times before he sat down. He found himself rather intrigued by his new neighbour. A man who had managed to praise him and slap him on the wrist in the space of two paragraphs…and now Sherlock wanted to meet him. This was strange in itself, because he usually spent most of his life staying away from people.

He read the note again…_left handed, intelligent, sure of himself, knows something about music, played an instrument perhaps? Lonely?…_yeah, definitely intrigued. John had clearly gone out, so he would just have to wait for him to come back_. _

It was past four when John got back home. He heard the violin as he climbed the stairs. He stopped outside 221B and listened…He'd only intended to stop a minute but he found that he could not move. The music was just too beautiful…the notes rang clear and true and the haunting melody went around itself a couple of times, still searching and then it soared and took his heart with it.

The music stopped...the piece was still unfinished, but it was clearly getting there. John wondered for a minute if he should knock and just say hello, but he hesitated. And then the door opened.

"John, I've been waiting for you." Sherlock said extending his hand.

"Oh my God!" John had never been more surprised in his life. _Sherlock Holmes, Oh my God!_

Sherlock smiled as they shook hands, clearly amused by the look of extreme surprise on John's face.

"Sherlock Holmes." he said.

"Yes. Yes. Of course, I know." _I sound like such an idiot._

"So what did you think?"

"It was fantastic...it's a concerto isn't it? You finished the second movement."

Sherlock nodded. He looked at the man in front of him with frank curiosity. John looked right back at him with a small smile on his face...Sherlock liked what he saw. A confident bearing, a boyishly handsome face, blond hair that seemed to glow almost, bright blue eyes that were twinkling at him and a general air of warmth and friendliness. _This is a good man_..._he's decent and trusting, though it is obvious he's been hurt a few times._

John was surprised by the scrutiny, but he didn't show it. He was caught by the intensity of Sherlock's gaze...He took in the man in front of him. He'd seen him on stage and in photographs. He'd thought him handsome, but now he found himself revising that opinion, somewhat. The man in front of him was gorgeous...as breathtakingly beautiful as his music. _This is a very special man...he's sensitive and passionate, though he tries not to show it. _

It was Sherlock who broke the silence. He realised with a start that he'd been staring for a good couple of minutes. "So...do you want to come in?" He said, stepping into the flat.

"Sure." John followed him in.

He looked around. The place was simple, homely and comfortable...none of them words that he would ever have associated with Sherlock Holmes.

"You have a question." said Sherlock as he settled on the couch.

"Yes...I am rather surprised that you choose to live here, Mr Holmes."

"Sherlock, please. I've already gone with John, in case you didn't notice."

John smiled at that, surprised at how comfortable he felt...he'd never been any good at talking to strangers, but Sherlock didn't feel like a stranger..._Now why is that?_ He wondered.

"Well?" he prompted settling into what would very soon become his chair.

"I like it here. It's cosy and warm and then there's Mrs Hudson, who insists that she's my landlady, not my housekeeper...and then behaves like my mum."

John laughed. Mrs Hudson reminded him of his mother as well. He'd only been here a day and a half and already the dear woman had started fussing over him, trying to make sure he was comfortable.

"How long have you lived here?"

"Since I was eighteen..."

"That's..."

"Ten years now."

"You must really love this place."

"I do. It's the only place that's ever felt like home." Sherlock said. There was a touch of bitterness in his voice. John was sure that there was a story there...

They sat in silence for a few minutes, each occupied with his own thoughts. Sherlock was surprised at how comfortable the silence was. With most people silence was awkward and it felt necessary to fill it up...he looked at John who was staring at the violin. Sherlock had left it on the coffee table.

"So, John, you used to play the violin...you were rather fond of it, in fact. Why did you stop?'

"How...how could you possibly know that?" John looked flummoxed.

Sherlock chuckled. "You've been looking at my violin, every other minute...and you seem fascinated by it. I take it you know that it's a Stradivarius. You've never actually seen one before...Most people are drawn to the music. Very few pay attention to the instrument."

"You're right. I started learning when I was ten. It was one of my favourite things in the world, but then I got older and busier...med school is pretty unforgiving, and then I enlisted and a lot of my life just fell away..."

"And then you got injured...left shoulder, is it?"

"Okay, how can you know these things?"

"I don't know...I see. It's obvious in the way you hold yourself. Your shoulder has clearly recovered, but you're still careful with it."

"Right, okay..."

It was clear that John didn't want to talk about it, so Sherlock didn't press. Instead, he picked up his violin and handed it to John.

"Take a look." He said. He was surprised at himself. Normally, he would not let anyone touch his violin...

John took it with an awed smile on his face...it made him look rather boyish...a look that Sherlock noted that he liked very much...

He held the violin and drew the bow across it, eliciting a few rich, deep notes and then he quietly handed it back to Sherlock.

"Would you play for me?" he asked hesitantly.

"That's all I seem to have done since yesterday."

"Yes. But...I don't think I can ever get enough of your music."

Sherlock just looked at him for a moment and then he nodded. He picked up the violin and walked over to the window. He checked the strings and then he closed his eyes and started playing. He began with Beethoven's violin romance number one and took it from there.

Sherlock treated him to a whole hour of music…all Beethoven, John noted with some surprise. He sat there and watched him play…finding it hard to believe that this was actually happening. Sherlock Holmes was playing just for him...it was surreal to say the very least.

John had read a lot about Sherlock over the years. He was famous around the world, considered the best violinist of his generation, a brilliant composer and a very controversial man. He had this reputation of being difficult to work with...he was also known to be very private. He rarely gave interviews, never socialised...

There had been stories of a difficult childhood, drug abuse and a couple of relationships gone wrong...As he sat there watching and listening, John couldn't shake the feeling that he'd had earlier...that Sherlock was very lonely and just now, rather lost as well.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock continued to play, switching from Beethoven to Schubert and finishing with Bach_...obviously_...Bach's Partita No 3, a lively little piece and a perfect end to the impromptu performance. He was smiling when he finished_...if ever a man was born to do something...it is this man and this thing, _thought John.

And he said as much, knowing that Sherlock must be more than used to this kind of praise and therefore surprised to see him flush just a little bit.

"Thank you." Sherlock said sounding a shade formal as he walked over to the coffee table to put the violin away.

He turned around looking a bit uncertain and said, "Tea?"

"Sure."

He walked into the kitchen and John followed him after a minute. He sat at the kitchen table watching Sherlock put the kettle on and get the cups out and...he couldn't quite believe that this was happening. Then Sherlock handed him a cup of tea and they started talking.

They talked about music and the army and London and Mrs Hudson...Sherlock was surprised at how easy it was to talk to this man. John couldn't help but notice how witty and charming Sherlock was. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed so much.

They sat in that kitchen and talked, sharing opinions and bits of each other's lives and neither noticed that a couple of hours had gone by. John glanced at the clock and he was surprised to see that it was seven thirty almost.

Sherlock saw that glance and looked as if he wanted to say something. But he stopped himself.

"What is it?" John said.

"Would you join me for dinner?" There was the faintest trace of hesitation in his voice as he asked the question, but John caught it. It made him wonder. It seemed that Sherlock wanted to get to know him better. _Why? What about me, of all people, could interest him? _He wondered.

"You're the most interesting person I've met in a while John." Sherlock answered the unspoken question.

"And you can read minds." said John with a smile.

"Most people hate that. You don't seem to mind," said Sherlock. "That's another thing that makes you different.

"I'd love to join you for dinner. I don't know when I last enjoyed anyone's company so much."

Sherlock flushed a bit again...John was starting to realise that this amazing man was not very used to receiving compliments...a fact that he could not fathom, but it seemed to be true.

"Order in or go out?"

"Oh order in. I'm much too comfortable to move right now."

"Italian?"

"Sure."

Sherlock went looking for a menu, borrowed John's phone (there's no signal on mine, he said) and ordered. He came back to the table and sat down. He looked at John intently for a couple of minutes. It was the kind of scrutiny that should have made him uncomfortable, but it didn't and John just looked back at him.

"You miss the army, don't you?" Sherlock said, out of the blue.

John was surprised again."It's not something I talk about much...most people cannot understand why I would miss being in the middle of a war. I don't miss the war. But...being there, I was important, what I did was crucial. I was saving lives...it gave me purpose...It's better now that I've gone back to surgery, but the first two years were hard. I was treating people for the flu..." he said.

Sherlock was looking at him with his head tilted to one side, like he was trying to figure him out. John had to wonder how he could see and deduce so much. It seemed that he didn't have to ask questions like a normal person. He just looked at you and knew everything about you.

By the time the food arrived, Sherlock had deduced that John's parents were dead, that he had a sibling (brother, he said) who was a recovering alcoholic, that John hadn't got along well with him, but that things were getting better now and that he was looking for a relationship but hadn't been on a date for a year at least.

John should have been offended at having his life laid bare like this, but he was too surprised and awed to do anything other than look amazed and say so. He did tell Sherlock that he had a sister not a brother...and Sherlock actually looked angry at himself for missing that_...Is this man for real?_ John wondered_. _He had never met anyone who had intrigued and interested him the way that Sherlock did.

Sherlock for his part was surprised...again. He had expected John to be angry or at least irritated at having all the details of his life laid bare, but John had laughed and said it was amazing. Sherlock had been intrigued by the man from the moment he read that note...everything from the manner of expression to the content, had been interesting.

And then he saw him, the warm, kindly face, lined with pain and experience, but still friendly and open...he had taken an almost instant liking to him and here they were, sharing dinner, talking and laughing like old friends. _Is this man for real?_ Sherlock wondered. He had never met anyone who made him feel so comfortable and relaxed and happy?

...

Several hours later, John lay in bed, his head full of Sherlock. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so comfortable with someone, so quickly after meeting them. The dinner had been the excellent, the conversation even better.

That had gone on until late into the night...it would still be going on if John hadn't remembered his early shift at the hospital and judged it prudent to go to bed. He was in bed, but unable to sleep. His mind was too alert and he had a lot to think about. _Well, whatever else, I've made a friend today_, he thought.

Sherlock didn't even try to sleep. He lay on the couch, fingers steepled under his chin, thinking of the wholly unexpected evening he'd had. He'd never been easy around people. He found it hard to make small talk and to be polite and seem interested in what everyone else had to say.

It was even harder to think before he spoke. He hadn't had to do any of that with John. He'd said some outrageous things in the course of the evening and John had laughed and taken it in his stride..._Is this what it feels like when you really connect with someone? _He was still wondering about that when his long day caught up with him and he fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

John was having a hard day. He'd woken up late, not surprising, considering how long he'd stayed up, first talking with and then thinking about Sherlock. He'd got to the hospital, just in time for his eight 'o' clock surgery. He'd had two back to back operations, and then an emergency right after...so it was four by the time he finally got back to his office. He was hungry and tired and he was now facing a pile of paper work.

He decided that he would go to the cafeteria and get something to eat first. He ran into Mike on the way.

"Going to the cafeteria John?"

"Yeah...for a very late lunch."

"It is tea time for me, mate. I'll join you. "

They made their way into the near empty cafeteria. John got himself a sandwich and a cup of tea. Mike confined himself to the tea though he looked rather wistfully at the cake and the scones.

"I take it you're having a busy day." Mike said as they sat down.

"Three operations...one of then an emergency," John said,

"Ah the exciting life of a surgeon. But then you were always one for excitement."

"What about you?"

"I teach mate, how exciting do you think that is?"

John laughed. "Not exciting maybe, but certainly stressful. I'd go running into a war zone without thinking, but I'd be terrified of walking into a classroom...not if your students are anything like we used to be."

"They're worse, mate. They're a lot worse." Mike said smiling.

John and Mike had been through med school together, they'd known each other for over ten years now. So they fell into conversation like the old friends that they were. They weren't close, not really, but they had shared enough of their lives to always have something to talk about. Besides, it was Mike who had been instrumental in getting John this job at Bart's...something that John would always be grateful for.

He got back to his office and buried himself in the paper work, looking up only when he heard his phone beep_..._.

**When do you get off work? SH**

**How did you get my number? JW**

**I took it when I borrowed your phone last night. SH**

Sherlock was above using emoticons, but John could almost see the smile as he read that message.

**Six thirty. Why? JW**

**I've been working on something. I want to know what you think. SH**

_Really? He wants my opinion of his music. This is surreal, no other word for it. I like it though...I really like it. And honestly, I cannot wait to go home and see him again._

That thought took him entirely by surprise. _I've known him for just over a day now. How I can already be so fond of him? _He was still trying to figure that out when his phone beeped again.

**John? SH**

**Sorry. Just got caught up in something. I'd love to hear anything that you've been working on. JW**

**Good. SH**

That sounded like the end of the conversation. There was something else that John wanted to ask...but he hesitated. _I don't want to be presumptuous_, he thought. He sat there toying with his phone and then he quickly typed a message and sent it, before he could talk himself out of it.

**What about dinner? Take away? JW**

**Of course. I'm in the mood for Thai. SH**

_Of course? So I wasn't the only one who had a very good time yesterday...good... great._

**Okay. I'll pick it up on the way home. JW**

He did. And they had another evening of music and conversation. Sherlock had spent all day working on the final part of the concerto. It was good. But he hadn't finished it yet. And what was done could be better, he thought. John agreed and so they went to work on it...

Sherlock wrote and rewrote the composition. John listened and critiqued. Sherlock had worked with other people before...a certain Victor Trevor came to mind. But it had never been so easy...John was no musician. His knowledge and understanding of music did not come anywhere close to Sherlock's.

But he was very well informed for an amateur. He had an excellent ear for music and he seemed to know almost instinctively what worked and what didn't. And he had no trouble voicing his opinion.

The best thing though, was that he was completely unfazed by Sherlock's behaviour which grew increasingly erratic and irritated when things didn't go right. John just patiently waited it out and then he continued like nothing had happened. Sherlock found it completely disarming...

They kept at it for over three hours...only stopping when John couldn't hold back his yawns and looked in danger of falling asleep on his feet. He was exhausted but he'd had what was probably the best day of his life, so he wasn't complaining.

Sherlock of course, wasn't tired at all. He was overjoyed at being able to compose again. He was a real sight...bright-eyed and literally bursting with energy. _Just like a child, _John thought, before he nodded off in his chair again. Sherlock took pity on him this time. He woke him up and led him next door and got him into bed.

He stood there looking at John and he was surprised at the ease with which they had become friends_. I can't believe that I've only known him for less than two days..._It was a full five minutes before he realised that he had just been standing there and watching John sleep.

Before he realised what he was doing, he reached down and kissed John softly on his fore head...


	6. Chapter 6

The next couple of days were almost exactly the same. They fell into a routine of sorts...John would go to work in the morning, Sherlock would text him through the day. He'd come home and then Sherlock would play for him.

They would talk, have dinner, work on whatever new piece Sherlock was obsessed with...and just be together. Neither of them knew when and how they became a part of each other's lives...

And then on Friday evening...John was just finishing up at work when his phone beeped as usual.

**Are you ready to leave yet? SH**

**Yes. Ten minutes. JW**

**Good. We're going out tonight. SH**

**Where? JW**

**The Barbican. SH**

**The London Symphony Orchestra? What are they performing? JW**

**Sibelius and Rachmaninoff. SH**

**Didn't you play with them at one time? JW**

**Yes. And then I had a falling out with the conductor. He's an idiot. SH**

**And you are an arrogant git. JW**

**Do you know that you say that fondly? SH**

**Do I now? JW**

**Well, are you leaving or not. SH**

**I am. Stop texting me and I will get done sooner. JW**

**You could always ignore me. SH**

**And risk having you break something? JW**

**John! SH**

**Yes, yes. I did say ten minutes. Now shut up. JW**

...

Sitting in the theatre, John marvelled again at how much his life had changed in the last few days. He used to dread weekends. All that time, watching idiotic shows on the telly, feeling useless and desperately alone. The only alternative being the pub and getting drunk with guys he used to be friends with.

He was listening to the music and watching his friend. Sherlock sat there, all elegance and long legs, fingers tapping unconsciously, totally at peace with himself. And John was overcome by a wave of fondness. It was so intense that it was painful, almost. He had never ever felt this way about anyone before...

He remembered the conversation that he'd had with Harry a few days ago and he realised that the interesting person that he had been looking for, the meaningful relationship that he'd said he wanted was sitting right next to him. He'd been talking of a woman when he'd said that, but looking at the undeniably attractive man next to him, he knew that gender was the least important thing in this equation.

Sherlock had his eyes closed but he knew that John was watching him. He really liked having John's attention. _And why is that? _He wondered_. I like that we're friends and that we share a lot of interests, but I love it when he looks at me. It makes me feel warm and happy...and wanted?_

He turned to look at John...he took in the sandy blonde hair, the blue eyes, the frown lines and the laughter lines...and that smile which made his eyes light up and made him look so boyish...and realised with sudden clarity that he was in love.

They went to dinner after that and had a very long, very interesting conversation. They talked about everything other than the one thing they were both thinking about. Being men and being British, they were less than great at dealing with feelings. Neither of them had any idea what to say. Besides, they were both watching each other, wondering if their feelings were returned and coming up unsure.

John knew that Sherlock liked him a lot, but he didn't think it was possible that he could love him. _He's an incredibly talented man. He's a genius and as if all that was not enough, he's bloody gorgeous. He could have anyone he wanted. I'm just a broken down ex army doctor. Why would he possibly want me?_

Sherlock knew that John considered him a very good friend, that he admired him and found him interesting. But he knew that he was a difficult man to like, let alone love. _John is a good man. He's nice and friendly and easy to love. Anyone would want him. He could have anyone he wanted. I'm selfish and arrogant...I'm moody and bad tempered. Why would he want to put up with me?_

Also Sherlock knew that John had only ever dated women...he was gay, of course and everyone knew it, but John might just be straight straight...

So they both shoved all those feelings and desires to the back of their minds and pretended that everything was normal...If John had a sudden desire to hold Sherlock's hand as they walked out of the restaurant, he quashed it firmly. If Sherlock wanted to kiss John goodnight, he bit his tongue and turned away.

They both claimed that they wanted to go to bed rather quickly after they got home. John spent hours tossing and turning, trying to sleep. But he couldn't. His head was full of the man next door who it seemed was intent on torturing him. Sherlock was playing the violin...

He started with Estrellita and took it from there...one soulful piece of music after another. Sherlock always played brilliantly, but just now he seemed to be putting everything he had into it. John hadn't heard him play with this much feeling before...it was as if he was laying his soul bare, giving it everything he had.

It was taking all of John's self control to stay put when all he wanted was to go over and snog the man senseless...The music was achingly beautiful, _just like Sherlock,_ he thought. He saw all of Sherlock's faults, of course, but he also saw beyond them. He knew that underneath all those moods and all that arrogance was a man with the heart of a little boy.

Sherlock was trying to lose himself in music. It was either that or cigarettes. He was a man used to getting what he wanted. And what he very much wanted just now was to wrap himself around a certain John Watson and never let go. But that was not possible so would just have to play until he passed out.


	7. Chapter 7

A week had gone by since that night at the concert and neither of them had been able to say anything yet. John had talked to Harry three times in that week alone. Mycroft had talked at Sherlock every day. Both siblings had only one thing to say…

JUST TELL HIM.

I can't.

Don't be a coward, Sherlock!

John! You're a soldier.

They had been dancing around each other all week and John was sure that he was going to go mad…Every time they were together...and they were together a lot...he couldn't take his eyes off Sherlock, he had to keep fighting the urge to touch him and he couldn't sleep at night and...if things continued like this much longer, he might just explode.

Sherlock had never wanted anything as badly as he wanted John...he wanted to hold him and touch him and, well, all he could do was look and not too obviously at that...and he was starting to think that he would die of frustration…In the end it was all very simple.

...

It was Saturday afternoon. John had just got back home from the store. He was on the stairs when he heard it…the violin was making the most awful noises that he had ever heard. Sherlock was clearly in one of his moods and he seemed to be taking it out on his poor instrument.

It made John cringe to hear the Stradivarius being treated like that. He got up the stairs, dumped the groceries and went to his friend. Sherlock was standing at the window, scraping the bow across the strings. He looked lost…and angry.

John put a hand on his shoulder and turned him around. Sherlock was surprised…John had never touched him before. He found himself oddly soothed by the contact. He looked at John...at that dear face that he loved so much and he found the noise in his head stilling.

"Stop doing that. It's not nice." John said as he gently took the violin and put it away.

He turned back to Sherlock and said, "What's got into you love?"

The endearment slipped out without his knowledge…He noticed the moment he said it though. Sherlock noticed too. He felt a jolt of pleasure in his heart and his face softened into a smile. _Love, is it? Well maybe there is some hope._

"Do you know what you just said?" His voice was low and touch amused.

John was starting to get a bit red…_time for JUST TELL HIM, I guess. Harry will be happy._

"You're blushing, John. Are you going to explain?"

John smiled, a small nervous smile, still unsure of how this was going to go...So he tried to stall.

"Do I have to? Can't you just look at me and figure it out?" he said.

"I can and I think I have, but I'd like to hear you say it all the same."

"..."

"John?"

"Okay…I'm trying…this isn't exactly easy and you're not helping at all."

Sherlock bent his head and kissed John lightly on his lips. "Does this help?" John felt like his heart would explode…the way it was thudding in his chest. _Well, time to man up._

"I...I think...I'm in love with you." He said tentatively.

Sherlock didn't say anything. He just stood there looking at John like he was the most amazing thing he'd ever seen. He had wanted this, he had wanted his so very badly...and now he was overwhelmed. There was so much he wanted to say, but the words just wouldn't come.

_I was so sure that I would never find anyone who understood me, who would see past my defences enough to love me. But then how could I have imagined a John Watson...I am an incredibly lucky man. He thought._

He didn't trust himself to speak though, at least not yet. So he decided that actions would have to do. He leaned down and pressed his lips to John's once more. And then he kissed him with all the passion that he was capable of. Nothing in John's experience had prepared him for his…it was raw, needy, passionate and bloody brilliant…he was overwhelmed and he felt his knees give out. He only stayed upright because of the pair of strong hands that held him firmly…

They broke apart after a bit, gasping and clinging to each other, happier in that moment than either of them had ever imagined. "I love you so much, you crazy, beautiful, amazing man." John said and he pulled Sherlock down for another kiss. It didn't bother him that Sherlock hadn't said anything yet. He didn't have to. That kiss had told him everything he needed to know_. I am one lucky bastard_, he thought.

Then Sherlock dragged him over to the couch and made him lie down. Then he lay down with his head on John's chest and stayed like that for a bit. John lay there holding him and stroking his hair as he had been longing to do…those curls were softer than he had imagined. He understood that Sherlock needed a moment...he did too. So he was happy to lie back and hold him.

Sherlock sat up after a bit…he seemed to have composed himself…he kissed John again, softly this time…and said, "I don't deserve you, John. You are much too good for me. But I am nothing if not selfish, so I'm going to take you anyway. I love you."

And then he reached forward and kissed John again...his lips, his jaw, his neck and then his lips again...John felt like he was melting into the couch..._he is insanely good at this_, he thought. Then Sherlock reached under John's shirt and ran his hands over his chest and John gasped and moaned..._I can't believe how much I want him. _He thought.

He pulled Sherlock closer and gasped when he felt him undoing his belt. Sherlock stopped abruptly. He pulled back and looked at John, doubt written all over his face. John could only blink in confusion..."What...what happened?"

Sherlock lay down beside him and held him close. "I'm sorry, John. I know you've never been with a man before...I realise that you might want to take it slowly. I just..." he couldn't finish.

John had tensed at the "sorry", but now he smiled. He reached over and brushed Sherlock's hair off his face and he kissed him on his forehead. "That's considerate of you love, but look at me will you? Really look...Do I look like a man who wants to take anything slow?"

Sherlock took in the dishevelled hair, the dilated pupils, the heavy breathing and of course the very noticeable bulge in his trousers and had to admit that John looked very aroused indeed.

"See? This is new for me, sure. But I'm not uncomfortable. Not at all. I could never be, not with you. So will you please stop over thinking this and just give me what I want?"


	8. Chapter 8

It was morning when John woke up…still early by the look of the sunlight streaming through the window. He blinked a few times before he realised that he was in Sherlock's room. The man himself was lying next to him, flat on his stomach, head turned to the side, his right arm around John, holding him close.

John shifted to look at him…and he felt his heart lurch. He'd never seen Sherlock sleeping before. He looked so at peace, so young and so impossibly beautiful. He felt his heart fill with fondness and he was surprised by the intensity of his feelings.

He had thought himself in love before, but it hadn't been anything like this, not even close. And he knew that whatever it was that was happening between them, it was not casual. He lay back thinking…he'd seen a whole new side to Sherlock last night…he'd been so passionate, all desire and lust and abandon…he'd let John know just how much he wanted him.

John couldn't help but feel privileged. He remembered one particular moment when Sherlock had undressed and was lying stretched out on the bed waiting for him…the sight of that gorgeous body, all that pale skin that seemed to glow almost…he thought he'd died and gone to heaven.

He smiled at the memory as he got out of bed and went to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth and had a long shower…he was still smiling when he walked back into the room. He pushed the pillows up and sat down looking at Sherlock…_.I could look at him all day,_ he thought…as he ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair….it was rapidly becoming one of his favourite things to do.

He thought back to last night and he was surprised at himself…his first time with a man, he should have been tentative, unsure…But it hadn't been like that at all. He realised that he hadn't thought of it as sex with a man…it was being with Sherlock which seemed perfectly natural and very, very right.

It was the most amazing sex he'd ever had…he could feel his skin tingle with the memory… and it had been so much more than sex._ It's him or nothing now. I can't imagine being with or wanting anyone else…ever. Does he feel the same way? I am pretty sure I can't live without him anymore._

That thought scared him_…What if he gets bored of me? No matter what he says, I'm ordinary and he's…him. He said he loves me and I know he does but…I want him forever and I need him to feel the same way. Does he? Can he?_

John had slipped out of that happy haze that he'd woken up in, busy as he was with all these questions. He sat there, looking a bit worried when Sherlock stirred and woke up. He saw John and smiled…a warm, lazy, happy smile. That smile went straight to his heart…

Sherlock's first thought on waking was,_ it really happened, all of that, I didn't dream it. John is in love with me and he wants me. He's here, with me in my bed…If I can wake up like this every day for the rest of my life, I will have done well._ He pulled John to him and nuzzled into his neck like a happy little puppy.

John lay there running his hand through Sherlock's curls. That smile had lifted his spirits. So he decided that he was being stupid and tried to put his doubts away. Then Sherlock lifted his head and looked at him….John looked back at him, smile firmly in place. But he was afraid Sherlock would see the worry in his eyes and he didn't want to start any serious conversations just now.

"Tea?" he said as he moved to get out of bed.

Sherlock started to say something and then he seemed to change his mind…he smiled and said, "Alright. I'll just go take a shower…" He kissed John lightly on his lips and walked into the bathroom.

John went into the kitchen and put the kettle on and felt his worry return with fresh intensity. He tried to tell himself that he was being stupid. But it didn't help. He made the tea and the toast. Then he went and picked up the newspaper and he was making a genuine attempt to be interested in it, when Sherlock walked in.

He just stood there and looked at John intently. Then he shook his head and smiled. "You are such an idiot" he said fondly. And he pulled John close and proceeded to kiss him thoroughly. It was intense… It was too much…it was sensory overload…John felt his mind go blank and his knees go weak as he clung to Sherlock…_how does he manage to do this to me so easily? _He wondered vaguely.

Then Sherlock pulled back and said "Does that tell you anything at all? I love you, you idiot and I'm never ever letting you go. Whatever you may think, you are not ordinary…not at all. I could never be bored of you…it's just not possible. So stop worrying about that. If you must worry about something, let it be about the fact that I am very possessive, so I will refuse to share you with anyone…not your sister, not your friends…no one. You belong to me and that's that. I am also very jealous so I will probably be very angry with anyone who seems interested in you. l will insist that you be with me as much as possible...so I will sulk when you go to work…in fact, I don't know how I am ever going to go on tour again. It seems I cannot get enough of you so I will be dragging you off to bed every couple of hours…" And he stopped.

John was laughing…no giggling and it was the most adorable thing Sherlock had ever seen.


	9. Chapter 9

It was a couple of hours later….They were lying in what was quickly becoming their favourite position. John was flat on his back with Sherlock curled up against him, head on his chest, an arm and a leg slung around him. It satisfied Sherlock's possessiveness and John's fondness for playing with his hair.

"John?"

"Hmmm?"

"Have you ever been in a long distance relationship?"

"Like our's is going to be in a couple of months?"

"Hmmm…"

"No….are you worrying about that?"

"I do have to get back to touring and performing…I want to, but I hate the thought of being away from you. I really don't think I can manage…But I'm not asking you to come with me. You have your life and your job and you should keep it. What you do is important and I know how much you like it and need it. It's just the thought of not seeing you everyday…."

"I know, love. I don't think I could stand to not be with you either…I really don't know what we can do. But that is a month or more in future, isn't it?"

Sherlock nodded.

"We'll figure it out. We'll think of something, I promise. There's no way I'm letting you go away for eight months at a time…I don't think I would survive."

Sherlock sat up and looked at him. "I think there is something you should know, John….I'm not very good at relationships. I'm not demonstrative…I love you, but I may not remember to say it as often as I should…I tend to get caught up in work and ignore everything else…I've been accused of being selfish and insensitive…with justice, I'm afraid… and I may not always know the right thing to say and do…and…I don't know how we're going to make this work if we're going to be apart from each other most of the time…" he trailed off frowning.

"Sherlock, look at me love." John said "I don't know what we're going to do. But we'll figure it out …together. I can't think of anything I wouldn't do to keep you. I'm guessing it's the same for you."

Sherlock nodded.

"Well in that case, you have nothing to worry about…as for all the flaws you listed, i know them all and i like love you in spite of them. And I have a good number of faults myself…my temper the biggest of them…you haven't seen it yet, but you will and then you may want to run from me, but you will come back…" he finished smiling.

And he pulled Sherlock to him and they stayed like that for a long time...their future was far from certain, but they were sure of each other and that is all that really mattered.

Fin

...

**Author's note: This is the end of this particular story. There are more to come in this universe. A sequel for sure, maybe two. But that is for later.**


End file.
